Page 49 of We Drank the Dawn

But every one of them were glassy-eyed, draining a mug, and dangerously close to crossing lines with women who needed to go home, too. At that thought, I almost laughed. How in the hell did I end up on this side? Not too long ago, I was the one getting kicked out of bars past closing time, crashing at strangers’ houses until I slept the hangover off. Then I’d wake up, do a line, and run the cycle all over again.

I glanced over my shoulder at the bar, and sure enough, my shots glistened in the warm light. A tinge of longing twisted in my chest as I gazed at the wall of liquor bottles.

Maybe I could take my shots, then go…

But Peter groaned, a sound I knew all too well.

Still fisting the back of his collar, I pushed him forward. “Go.”

He took a wobbly step, and I barked, “Harlan!”

Harlan turned, lifting his mug. “Yeah?”

“I’m driving all of you home. Come on.”

Harlan shook his head. “I’ve got my truck⁠—”

“You can’t even walk, man. I’ve got the Ranger. Let’s go. Rudy, Cody, you too.”

It took some convincing, but I finally got them to put down their drinks and say goodbye to their girlfriends then herded them to the parking lot, cursing each one of them for ruining my chance to take a taste.

Cody stumbled over the curb and cawed, “Coop, how’re we—supposed to fit?”

“Peter’s sitting in the front and the rest of you idiots can lay in the back.”

Rudy whined, “It’s kinda cold out here.”

It was in the fifties. “Snuggle.”

After a lot of bellyaching, they lumbered into the back of the truck, shifting around a plethora of tools and ranch equipment as they did. Peter stood outside the truck door, clueless about what to do next. I hesitated to put him in the truck because he would definitely puke, but I didn’t want to wait until he did because who knew how long it might take for him to let it all go.

Finally, I decided to just get home as quickly as possible.

I opened the passenger’s door and shoved him in.

FIFTEEN

Peter

“Siri.” My voice cracked, my throat burning from last night’s bad decisions. “What time is it?”

Siri’s computerized response filled the quiet fifth wheel. “It’s 3:47 p.m.”

For a few moments, I wracked my brain, trying to remember where I was. The sheets on the bed were cotton. Different than the silk ones Sarah and I used back at home.

Then it all came rushing back.

I breathed a low curse. Not only had I made a total idiot of myself last night, but I also slept away another day at Meadowbrook. Sarah would be pissed.

A wave of nausea swept up my neck and I took a deep swallow, wishing I’d taken it easy last night. My forehead broke out in a sweat as I rolled over, and the mattress seemed to tilt forty-five degrees. I gripped the sheets as the bed spun.

What was I thinking?

For long minutes, I laid flat on my back with my hands pressed against my sternum, struggling to simultaneously breathe and not vomit again. I rubbed my lips together, wincing at the way they stuck—dry and cracking. My tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, and I craved water like the world might be running out of it.

Flopping my arm over my face, I groaned—the sound distracting my spasming esophagus.

Why did I order that first beer last night?